NEW  YORK 

AS  IT  WAS 

SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 

REMINISCENCES  BY 
HENRY   T  .A  V  L  O  R. 


Nolan  Bro's  Print, 
67  &  69  Fleet  St.,  Brooklyn. 


i£x  Htbris 


SEYMOUR  DURST 


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Gift  <  >f  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


NE IV  YORK 

AS  IT  WAS 

SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 

REMINISCENCES  BY 
HENRY  TAYLOR. 


Nolan  Bro's  Print, 
67  &  69  Fleet  St.,  Brooklyn. 


1S94. 


Digitized  by 

the  Internet  Archive 

in  2014 

http://archive.org/details/newyorkasitwassiOOtayl 


BY  HENRY  TAYLOR. 


New  York  as  it  was  sixty  years  ago,  and  the  great 
changes  that  have  been  made  since,  can  be  but  faintly 
realized  or  understood  by  reading  only  ;  still,  the  writer 
will  endeavor  to  present  a  picture  of  the  city  as  it  existed 
in  his  boyhood  days.  The  people  did  not  live  so  fast  then, 
but  enjoyed  themselves  as  thoroughly,  had  more  real  com- 
fort, and  were  possessed  of  more  sociability,  every  man 
knowing  his  neighbor  and  calling  him  friend. 

There  were  many  places  in  the  city  at  which  their  leisure 
hours  could  be  passed  pleasantly.  The  Battery  was  then  a 
large,  open  park,  containing  many  fine  shade-trees,  and 
fronted  by  handsome  dwellings  on  State  street  and  Market- 
field  street,  affording  a  delightful  place  for  a  promenade  of 
a  warm  day  or  evening,  not  the  least  pleasant  feature  of 
which  was  the  sniff  of  "old  ocean"  in  the  breeze  from  the 
harbor  in  front,  the  islands  in  the  bay  and  the  far-off  hills 
of  Staten  Island  and  New  Jersey  furnishing  the  picturesque. 

Governor's  Island  contained  only  two  or  three  small 
houses,  the  soldiers'  barracks  and  the  fort.    Bedloe's,  now 


4 


spoken  of  as  Liberty  Island,  was  a  pretty  little  island,  with 
some  trees  on  it,  and  one  house.  Ellis'  Island  was  a  very 
unattractive  place,  consisting  simply  of  a  sand-bar  a  little 
above  high-water,  and  by  the  boys  called  Gibbet  Island, 
because  pirates  were  hung  there,  among  them  a  white  man 
named  Gibbs  and  a  colored  man  named  Warmsley;  the  last 
of  the  pirates  hung  there  was  one  named  Davis,  in  1852. 

What  is  now  known  as  Castle  Garden  was  then  an  old 
fort,  standing  out  from  the  Battery  about  three  hundred 
leet,  and  approached  by  a  bridge;  it  was  afterward  altered 
and  opened  as  a  garden  by  a  Mr.  French,  and  that  famous 
singer,  Jennie  Lind,  made  her  first  appearance  there. 

Let  us  follow  the  promenaders  up  Broadway,  and  see  it 
as  it  then  was,  in  what  the  writer  still  considers  its  best 
days.  Washington's  Headquarters,  at  the  corner  of 
Marketfield  street,  the  Bowling  Green,  and  Atlantic  Garden 
opposite,  were  the  first  places  to  attract  attention.  No 
stores  or  places  of  business  were  then  to  be  found  below 
Wall  street,  the  thoroughfare  being  lined  with  handsome 
private  dwellings.  Grace  Church  was  on  the  corner  of 
Rector  street,  and  Trinity  opposite.  St.  Paul's,  at  the 
corner  of  Fulton  street,  stands  now  as  it  was  when  General 
Washington  attended  and  belonged  there. 

On  the  corner  of  Ann  street  was  Scudder's  Museum, 
before  Barnum's  time,  and  Peale's  Museum  stood  on  Broad- 
way, near  Barclay  street,  where  the  "wild  Indians  of  the 
West' '  were  exhibited,  to  the  wonder  and  alarm  of  all  the 
small  boys  and  girls. 

City  Hall  Park  then  had  five  buildings  in  it;  the  Hall, 
with  its  white  face  and  brown  back,  that  still  stands  as  a 
monument  to  the  economy  of  our  good  old  city  fathers, 
who,  in  the  belief  that  the  city  would  not  grow  much  above 
Chambers  street,  considered  brownstone  good  enough  for 
the  country  people  to  look  at.    On  the  Broadway  side  of 


5 


the  Hall  was  the  City  Prison,  standing  a  little  back  from 
the  street,  where  its  presiding  spirit,  Old  Hays,  the  chief 
constable,  could  always  be  found  if  wanted.  He  was  a  man 
of  very  severe  countenance,  who  never  smiled,  and  was  a 
terror  to  all  evil- disposed  persons.  When  he  opened 
court  he  would  rap  on  the  desk,  and,  in  a  gruff  voice,  cry 
out:  "Silence!"  and  perfect  order  and  quiet  reigned. 

The  police  force  of  the  city  was  then  limited  to  a  few 
constables,  with  Old  Hays  the  chief  for  the  day,  and  a 
regular  watch  force  preserved  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the 
city  at  night,  as  well  as  guarding  it  from  burglars  and 
thieves. 

EAST  SIDE  REMINISCENCES. 

When  the  Erie  Canal  was  finished  and  opened  for  the 
use  of  commerce  in  1825,  those  small  but  useful  boats  that 
plied  between  New  York  and  Buffalo  were  located  at  the 
foot  of  Broad  street.  They  brought  the  grain  and  produce 
of  the  West  to  New  York,  and  carried  back  large  cargoes 
of  merchandise  in  exchange.  Some  of  these  canal-boats 
had  plain  but  convenient  cabins,  fitted  up  with  all  the 
accommodations  of  a  river  steamboat,  and  carried  passen- 
gers from  Albany  to  Buffalo,  or  any  other  distance  on  the 
canal,  at  the  rate  of  two  and  a  half  cents  a  mile  with  board, 
or  one  and  a  half  cents  a  mile  without.  This  easy  and 
comfortable  way  of  traveling  was  preferred  by  many  to  the 
long  and  tiresome  ride  in  the  stage-coach  or  wagon,  and 
was  the  great  emigrant  route  to  the  West  until  the  railroads 
were  completed.  Cottages  were  to  be  seen  at  long  intervals 
where  now  stand  flourishing  towns  and  villages.  But,  to 
come  back  to  New  York  as  it  was  sixty  or  seventy  years 
ago,  we  will  go  on  to  Coenties  Slip,  a  very  busy  place. 
The  canal-boats  and  small  sea-going  vessels  discharged 
their  cargoes  there.    The  Slip  extended  then  to  Water 


6 


street,  but  it  is  now  filled  up,  and  a  neat  park  has  been 
made  in  its  place. 

All  the  wholesale  flour  and  provision  stores  were  in 
Broad,  Front  and  Water  streets.  The  large  dry  goods 
houses  were  in  Hanover  Square.  At  Old  Slip  was  a 
market,  and  Fly  Market  was  at  the  foot  of  Maiden 
Lane,  situated  in  the  wealthiest  business  part  of  the  city. 
Wall  street  was  then,  as  now,  the  financial  centre.  The 
lower  part  of  Fulton  street  was  a  busy  place,  and  Fulton 
Market  ranked  second  to  Washington  in  amount  of  busi- 
ness transacted.  Fulton  Ferry  was  a  small  concern;  the 
boats  ran  only  at  long  intervals,  according  to  the  signal  given 
from  a  little  village  called  Brooklyn,  on  the  opposite  shore. 

Holt's  Hotel,  on  the  corner  of  Fulton  and  Water  streets, 
was  used  as  a  telegraph  station  for  the  mercantile  interests 
of  the  city.  On  the  roof  was  built  the  signal  house,  where 
the  signals  to  and  from  Sandy  Hook,  announcing  the 
arrival  of  ships,  were  operated.  Then  telegraphing  was 
done  by  signals  from  station  to  station,  at  various  distances, 
until  Morse  invented  the  electric  telegraph,  which  did  away 
with  Mr.  Holt's  plan.  The  building  of  that  hotel  was  too 
much  of  an  undertaking  for  Mr.  Holt.  He  had  made 
enough  in  business  at  Fulton  Market  to  live  at  ease,  but  in 
erecting  that  large  building  he  lost  nearly  all  his  honest 
earnings.  From  Fulton  Ferry  to  Catharine  Ferry  the 
docks  were  occupied  mostly  by  small  vessels,  and  Peck 
Slip  was  the  location  for  nearly  all  the  boats  that  brought 
wood  to  the  city. 

OUR  FIRST  RESERVOIR. 

On  the  Chatham  street  side  of  the  City  Hall  was  the 
Debtors'  Prison  (now  the  Hall  of  Records).  It  was  pitiful 
to  see  the  prisoners  walking  for  exercise  on  the  roof,  incar- 
cerated because  unable  to  pay  some  trivial  debt. 


i 


Near  this  prison  was  a  large,  round  building,  fronting  on 
Chambers  street,  called  the  Rotunda.  It  was  occupied 
after  the  big  fire  of  '35  by  the  Post-Office,  until  the  new 
Office  was  opened  in  Nassau  street. 

In  the  rear  of  the  Hall,  fronting  on  Chambers  street,  was 
the  old  Almshouse,  a  long,  two-story  building,  containing 
Scudder's  Museum  and  the  Recorder's  Court-room — the 
famous  Judge  Dickey  Riker  presided  there. 

On  the  corner  of  Elm  and  Reade  streets  the  Manhattan 
Company  had  the  well  that  supplied  the  city  with  water. 
A  large  steam  engine  was  at  work  day  and  night  pumping 
the  water  into  a  reservoir  in  Chambers  street,  from  whence 
it  was  conveyed  through  wooden  pipes  to  all  parts  of  the 
city  below  Chambers  street. 

The  water,  from  its  source,  was  impure.  The  well  that 
furnished  it  was  on  the  border  of  the  creek  that  formerly 
ran  through  what  is  now  Canal,  Centre  and  Roosevelt 
streets,  to  the  East  River.  The  water  at  last  became 
undrinkable,  and  caused  sickness  wherever  used.  The 
Manhattan  Company  commenced  boring  for  a  new  well  in 
a  lot  on  Bleecker  street,  between  Broadway  and  Mercer 
street.  In  1831  an  engine  was  at  work  there  for  a  long 
time.  A  building  was  erected  in  Mercer  street,  near 
Bleecker,  intended  for  a  new  reservoir,  but  the  city  was 
growing  fast,  and  the  location  was  abandoned.  A  reservoir 
in  Thirteenth  street,  near  the  Bowery,  was  then  commenced, 
an1  a  large  well,  about  twenty  feet  in  diameter,  was  started. 
This,  it  was  thought,  would  be  large  enough  to  supply  the 
city  with  good  water;  but,  after  the  large  hole  for  the  well 
had  been  worked  at  for  three  or  four  years,  the  idea  was 
abandoned,  and  in  1840  the  good  and  wholesome  Croton 
water  was  brought  to  the  city.  A  grand  turnout  of  the 
people  celebrated  the  fact  that  New  York  had  obtained  a 
supply  of  pure  water  at  last. 


S 


When  the  Manhattan  water  had  become  so  bad  that 
people  could  not  use  it,  they  depended  instead  on  pumps 
and  the  spring-water  carts,  which  supplied  pure  spring 
water  at  two  cents  a  pailful.  It  was  a  profitable  business. 
The  water  was  brought  from  Knapp's  well  in  Thirteenth 
street,  near  the  old  White  Fort  (or  Fort  Gansevoort). 
This  fort  stood  out  in  the  river,  nearly  surrounded  by 
water,  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  neck  of  land,  which  projected 
from  the  mainland  a  long  distance,  and  Thirteenth  street 
to-day  is  a  part  of  that  neck  running  down  to  the  fort. 

The  White  Fort,  or  Fort  Gansevoort,  stood  out  in  the 
river,  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  peninsula  that  extended  from 
the  mainland,  from  what  is  now  Greenwich  street;  Thir- 
teenth street  was  continued  over  it.  Between  Thirteenth 
and  Hammond  streets  was  a  large  cove,  the  water  extend- 
ing back  to  the  high  ground  over  which  Greenwich  was 
continued  from  Bank  street. 

There  were  three  large  houses  on  that  ridge  of  high 
ground,  standing  a  little  back  from  the  road,  and  sur- 
rounded by  handsome  gardens  and  lawns  that  extended  to 
the  fine,  sandy  beach  of  the  cove.  Here  was  a  delightful 
place  for  bathing,  and  furnished  the  boys  from  far  and  near 
the  pleasure  of  a  salt  water  bath,  with  no  one  to  disturb 
them  in  their  fun.  Washington  and  West  streets  ended  at 
Hammond  street;  from  Hammond  to  Christopher  and  from 
Hudson  to  the  river  was  about  the  boundary  of  old  Green- 
wich Village;  but,  as  the  city  grew,  so  the  village  increased, 
and  all  that  section  of  the  city  was  called  Greenwich. 
When  New  York  was  so  terribly  afflicted  with  the  yellow 
fever  in  1824,  the  whole  lower  part  of  the  city  was  nearly 
deserted,  except  by  doctors  and  nurses;  grass  grew  in  the 
streets,  in  which  no  persons  were  to  be  seen  except  a  doctor 
on  his  rounds,  or  an  undertaker  with  his  wagon,  driving  in 
haste  to  remove  the  dead;  the  people  had  removed  to  the 


9 


upper  part  of  the  city  and  the  country;  the  banks  from 
Wall  street  were  removed  to  the  upper  part  of  Greenwich 
Village,  into  Bank  street  (from  that  fact  the  street  derived 
its  name).  When  the  pestilence  disappeared  at  last  the 
streets  were  again  open  for  travel,  and  the  people  returned 
to  their  homes  and  places  of  business;  the  city  soon  recov- 
ered its  former  cheerfulness.  The  city  grew  fast,  mostly 
on  the  north  side,  for  Greenwich  Village  in  a  few  years 
developed  into  a  large  business  place,  and  in  1827  Mr. 
Asa  Hall  established  a  line  of  omnibuses,  to  run  from  the 
corner  of  Charles  and  Hudson  streets  to  the  lower  part  of 
Wall  street,  and  the  fare  was  25  cents.  This  was  the  first 
regular  line  of  stages  established  in  New  York.  But 
Mr.  Hall  did  not  enjoy  the  sole  privilege  for  many  years. 
In  1830  Kip  &  Brown  established  their  line  of  stages,  in 
opposition  to  Mr.  Hall,  from  the  opposite  corner  of  Hudson 
and  Charles  streets,  and  reduced  the  fare  to  12*4  cents. 

As  all  large  communities  have  a  certain  c  ass  among; 
them  that  are  not  willing  to  live  honest  lives,  it  is  neces- 
sary and  proper  to  have  places  of  confinement  for  all 
such  offenders  against  the  laws  and  the  peace  of  society. 
The  State  Prison  was  in  Amos  street,  its  premises  sur- 
rounded by  a  large,  high  stone  wall  extending  from  Amos, 
through  Washington  to  Hammond,  to  the  river  front,  and 
down  to  Amos.  A  guard  on  the  corner  of  Hammond  and 
Washington  streets,  armed  with  muskets,  could  be  seen  at 
ali  times,  day  or  night,  ready  to  shoot  any  poor  fellow  who 
might  attempt  to  scale  the  wall  in  order  to  enjoy  again  his 
liberty. 

OLD  MARKETS. 

In  writing  the  reminiscences  of  New  York  as  I  remember 
it  in  my  younger  days,  it  may  be  advisable  to  look  on  each 
side  of  the  city  before  going  through  the  centre  and  upper 
part  of  the  island  to  the  Harlem  River. 


10 


We  therefore  leave  Greenwich  at  the  old  State  Prison, 
and  proceed  along  the  river  front.  At  Christopher  street 
was  the  Greenwich  Market,  and  at  Spring  street  the  Clinton 
Market;  these  two,  and  old  Bear,  or  Washington,  were  the 
only  markets  on  the  north  side  of  the  city.  There  were 
only  twelve  markets  for  the  whole  city.  Meat  was  not  sold 
at  retail  anywhere  but  in  the  markets;  it  was  unlawful  to  do 
so.  Butcher  shops  were  not  allowed  in  the  city,  and  the 
marketmen  had  a  monopoly  of  the  business,  yet  provisions 
were  cheap.  It  was  not  necessary  for  a  man  to  draw  his 
check  before  he  went  to  market,  for  every  man  or  woman 
who  had  25  cents  in  the  pocket  could  buy  a  good  dinner 
for  a  family  of  four  or  five  persons  at  any  time  or  at  any 
market.  Beef  from  4  to  5  cents  a  pound;  potatoes,  3  cents 
a  small  measure;  butter,  8  cents  per  pound;  and  everything 
else  in  the  same  proportion.  In  1834  the  law  was  repealed, 
and  butcher  shops  were  allowed. 

From  Canal  street  to  the  old  Red  Fort  at  the  foot  of 
Beach  street,  on  the  river  shore,  nothing  could  be  seen  but 
saw-pits,  in  which  nearly  all  the  timber  used  was  sawed, 
for  there  were  no  steam  saw- mills  to  do  the  work.  It  was 
a  large  industry,  and  employed  a  large  number  of  men. 

At  the  foot  of  Harrison  street,  below  the  Red  Fort,  was 
the  wholesale  market  for  all  kinds  of  farm  produce  brought 
to  the  city  by  the  fine  North  River  sloops  and  barges. 
Citizens  could  go  to  these  boats  and  buy  provisions  of  all 
kinds  cheap  and  good.  A  tub  of  butter  at  12  cents  per 
pound;  potatoes,  75  cents  a  barrel.  A  carman  on  his  way 
home  in  the  afternoon  would  stop  and  buy  a  bag  of  oats 
for  75  cents,  and  hay  for  25  cents  the  hundred  pounds. 
The  farmer  could  send  his  farm  produce  by  the  sloop  or 
barge  from  the  town  or  village  nearest  to  him,  and  the 
captain  of  the  boat  acted  as  his  agent  and  sold  for  cash  at 
the  market  price,  making  his  return  to  the  farmer  when  he 


11 

arrived  back  from  the  city,  thus  saving  the  profits  of  the 
middle,  or  commission  man,  and  the  delay  and  anxiety  of 
waiting  for  an  advance  in  prices.  His  ready  cash  was  far 
better  to  him  than  waiting  for  the  commissioner's  check 
indefinitely.  The  North  River  sloops  were  noted  all  over 
for  their  neat  appearance  and  fast-sailing  quality.  They 
made  a  fine  picture  sailing  up  and  down  the  noble  Hudson 
in  large  numbers,  in  front  of  the  Palisades,  on  the  Jersey 
shore. 

Then  the  old  Bear,  or  Washington  Market,  was  the 
largest  in  the  city,  and  always  the  most  popular  and  busiest 
place  in  the  town.  There  is  no  market  in  the  country  that 
has  done  the  amount  of  business  transacted  in  this  old 
Washington  Market.  Now  it  is  hard  to  define  the  boundary 
of  this  old  landmark. 

The  foot  of  Cortlandt  street  was  a  busy  place.  The 
Albany  steamboats  left  there,  and  the  day- boats  were 
always  well-laden  with  passengers,  on  a  trip  of  pleasure  or 
business. 

The  way  to  Philadelphia  by  steamboat  from  Marketfield 
street  to  South  Amboy,  and  from  there  by  rail  to  Phila- 
delphia, was  the  favoriie  route,  with  fine  boats  and  popular 
captains. 

And  as  we  go  up  Broadway  we  find  nothing  but  fine 
dwelling  houses  and  a  few  small  stores.  Canal  street  there 
was  formerly  a  creek,  which  ran  across  the  city  from  the 
North  to  the  East  River,  along  what  is  now  Canal,  Cenire 
and  Roosevelt  streets,  to  the  river.  And  there  was  Church 
street,  and  Chapel  street  ran  from  Barclay  to  Canal  street. 
Chapel  street  was  widened,  and  is  now  West  Broadway, 
and  continued  through  Laurence  street,  which  was  widened 
also,  to  correspond  in  width.  In  Laurence  street  there 
was  a  large  theatre,  near  Canal  street,  called  the  Lafayette. 
It  was  burned  down  in  1831.    The  St.  John's  Church,  in 


12 


Varick  street,  has  never  been  altered,  but  stands  the  same 
familiar  landmark,  with  its  high  steeple  to  be  seen  many 
miles  away.  There  was  a  fine,  large  park  (St.  John's 
Park)  in  front  of  it.  Now,  the  Hudson  River  Railroad 
Depot,  for  freight,  occupies  the  whole  of  the  park  ground. 
Dr.  Cox's  Church  was  on  the  corner  of  Laight  and  Varick 
streets,  and  Dr.  Tappen's  Church  in  Spring,  near  Varick 
street. 

We  continue  our  walk  up  Broadway,  then  a  fine,  hand- 
some street,  with  large  poplar  trees  on  both  sides,  for  shade 
and  ornament.  Mr.  John  G.  Coster  built  a  large  house 
between  Spring  and  Prince  streets,  and  lived  there.  The 
building  was  used,  after  he  moved  away,  as  Barnum's 
Museum,  and  was  burned  out  in  1868.  John  J.  Astor  built 
a  large  house  at  587  Broadway,  where  he  lived  and  died. 
On  the  southwest  corner  of  Prince  street  was  the  large 
Military  Garden,  and  Niblo's  on  the  opposite  side,  where 
it  now  is,  and  St.  Thomas'  Church,  on  the  corner  of 
Houston  street.  A.  Brower's  line  of  stages  ran  from  Bond 
to  Wall  street.  The  Sailors'  Snug  Harbor  was  on  the 
corner  of  Ninth  street.    It  is  now  on  Staten  Island. 

Broadway  continued  on  above  the  old  Arsenal,  that 
stood  where  what  is  now.  Madison  Square,  at  or  near 
Twenty-fifth  street,  fronting  the  old  Cato  road — which 
branched  off  to  the  right  from  the  Broadway  road  at  this 
point — and  continued  to  where  the  Fourth  avenue  now 
crosses  at  Thirty-second  street,  and  then  it  took  a  long  turn 
to  the  left  and  over  Murray  Hill,  and  at  Forty-second 
street  it  turned  to  the  right,  and  crossed  Third  avenue  at 
Forty-third  street  to  where  the  Second  avenue  now  is,  and 
continued,  gradually  turning  towards  the  Third  avenue, 
which  it  joined  at  Sixty-seventh  street.  The  famous  Cato, 
a  colored  man,  kept  a  popular  public  house  on  the  road, 
at  about  Fifty-first  street.    His  place  was  known  to  New 


L3 


Yorkers  as  a  sure  place  to  stop  at  when  out  for  a  ride  in 
the  Summer  or  sleigh-riding  in  the  Winter.  It  was  natural 
to  expect,  and  to  have,  six  weeks'  good  sleighing  every 
Winter. 

The  Third  avenue  continued  to  the  Harlem  River.  At 
One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  street  there  was  a  road, 
called  Harlem  Lane,  which  ran  down  to  the  river,  opposite 
Randall's  Island.  This,  and  the  road  at  Ninety-second 
street  to  Hell  Gate  Ferry,  with  the  road  at  Twenty-fifth 
street  running  to  the  Bellevue  Prison,  were  the  only  roads 
above  Thirteenth  street  running  to  the  river.  At  the  prison 
they  had  a  treading-mill  for  the  prisoners  to  work  at.  It 
was  a  large,  wide  wheel,  arranged  so  that  the  men  had  to 
keep  moving,  like  walking  up  stairs,  holding  on  to  a  log 
bar  that  extended  in  front  of  them.  This  was  one  way  of 
punishment,  and  another  was  to  send  them  out  in  gangs  to 
work  on  the  roads,  with  a  large  iron  ball  chained  to  one  leg. 
On  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  street  there  was  another 
road  running  west  to  McComb's  Dam,  on  the  Harlem 
River.  This  was  another  famous  place  for  sporting  men 
and  others  to  drive  to  for  an  afternoon  ride.  On  the  corner 
of  Third  avenue  and  this  road,  One  Hundred  and  Twenty- 
fifth  street,  a  man  named  Bradshaw  kept  a  public  house. 
He  was  a  sporting  man,  and  fond  of  betting.  He  would 
bet  on  anything  or  with  any  person  who  came  into  his 
place,  and  for  any  amount  of  money.  One  day  two  men 
called  on  Bradshaw,  and,  after  the  sporting  fashion  of 
taking  a  drink  the  first  thing,  they  talked  about  betting. 
They  proposed  to  bet  Bradshaw  five  dollars  that  he  could 
not  keep  time  with  his  hand  to  the  motion  of  the  pendulum 
of  his  big  clock  and  say,  "Here  she  goes  and  there  she 
goes,"  without  missing  a  single  beat  of  the  pendulum,  for 
one  hour.  So  he  sat  down  in  front  of  his  big  clock  and 
commenced:  "Here  she  goes  and  there  she  goes;"  and 


14 


while  he  was  earnestly  engaged  looking  at  his  clock,  one 
of  the  men  contrived  to  rob  his  house  of  a  large  sum  of 
money  and  other  things.  A  few  minutes  before  the  time 
was  up  the  two  men  hastily  got  in  a  wagon  and  drove  away, 
leaving  Bradshaw  still  keeping  time  with  "Here  she  goes 
and  there  she  goes."  That  trick  played  on  Bradshaw  was 
the  beginning  of  that  much  used  slang,  "There  she  goes 
and  here  she  goes.' 1 

The  Broadway,  or  Bloomingdale  Road,  ended  at  Kings- 
bridge.  A  little  village  called  Bloomingdale,  and  one  called 
Manhattanville,  were  the  only  settlements  on  the  road  to 
Kingsbridge.  The  Arsenal  that  stood  on  the  corner  of 
Cato's  road  and  the  Bloomingdale  Road,  on  what  is  now 
Madison  Square,  was  removed,  and  the  House  of  Refuge 
was  built  there,  and  after  a  fire  had  damaged  it  the  Refuge 
was  removed  to  Randall's  Island.  The  Middle  Road,  or 
Boston  Post  Road,  commenced  at  the  Cato  road.  At 
Fourth  avenue  and  Thirty-second  street  it  went  over 
Murray  Hill  to  Forty-second  street.  It  there  turned  to  the 
left,  to  the  line  of  Fifth  avenue,  or  the  ground  intended  for 
a  city  burying  ground,  but  was  never  used  for  that  purpose. 
The  Crystal  Palace  was  built  on  the  ground  near  Sixth 
avenue  in  1853,  but  now  the  Fifth  Avenue  Reservoir  occu- 
pies nearly  half  the  ground,  and  a  park  the  rest;  so  when 
the  avenue  was  opened  on  the  west  side  of  Murray  Hill  it 
joined  the  Middle  Road,  so  Fifth  avenue  is  the  old 
Middle  Road.  Between  this  road  and  Third  avenue,  on 
Fifty-first  and  Fifty-second  streets,  and  now  Fourth  avenue, 
was  the  Potter's  Field,  a  large  burying  ground.  At  the 
foot  of  Murray  Hill,  between  Thirty-second  street,  Middle 
Road  and  the  Cato  road,  was  a  large  pond,  called  Sunfish 
Pond.  And  the  Cooper  glue  factory  was  on  the  banks  of 
the  Cato  road  side  of  the  pond.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  none  of  the  here  mentioned  cross-roads  were  opened 


15 


at  the  time  we  are  writing  about  (1828);  only  the  sur- 
veyor's mark  was  there,  to  locate  where  the  street  would  be 
when  opened. 

There  are  a  few  more  olaces  we  remember  of  in  our 
younger  days  on  this  Manhattan  Island.  There  was  the 
Cedar  Creek,  a  large,  wide  stream  of  water,  commencing, 
a  small  stream,  at  what  is  now  Madison  Square,  the  east 
side,  and  now  Madison  avenue  ;  the  water,  from  the  high 
ground  of  the  west  side  of  Murray  Hill,  ran  along  the  low 
ground  where  Madison  avenue  now  is,  crossing  the  Cato 
road,  and  into  a  pond  called  Logus  Pond,  between  Third 
and  Fourth  avenues,  and  then  crossed  Third  avenue  into 
Cedar  Creek,  between  Eighteenth  and  Nineteenth  streets; 
and  from  there  the  creek  was  wide,  running  to  the  East 
River  at  or  near  the  foot  of  Thirteenth  street.  There 
Sandy  Gibson  lived,  and  kept  boats  to  hire  out  by  the  day 
or  hour.  It  was  a  noted  place  for  New  Yorkers  to  go  and 
be  accommodated  with  a  boat  and  fishing  supply  for  a 
day's  sport.  And  we  have  seen  that  large  creek  in  Winter 
frozen  over  with  strong,  thick  ice,  and  thousands  of  men 
and  boys  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  good  skating  from  morn 
to  late  at  night;  and  I  have  been  one  of  the  vast  crowd. 

There  was  a  large  pond  of  water  where  Tompkins  Square 
now  is,  called  Stuyvesant's  Pond,  and  another  on  the  west 
side,  where  Jefferson  Market  stands,  at  Sixth  and  Green- 
wich avenues,  called  the  Cortelyou  Pond.  What  is  now 
Asior  Place  was  a  short  street,  called  Art  street.  It  ran 
from  Broadway  to  Third  avenue,  at  Ninth  street,  and  there 
joined  Stuyvesant  street,  or  road,  which  ran  southeast  to 
the  foot  of  Thirteenth  street.  St.  Mark's  Church  was  on 
this  road,  and  is  there  now,  and  looks  about  the  same  as  it 
did  when  I  first  saw  it  in  1824. 

Peter  G.  Stuyvesant  lived  on  this  road  about  where 
Avenue  A  crosses,  and  his  ground  ran  to  the  shore  of  the 


16 


cove  that  extended  in  as  far  as  Avenue  C  now  is,  and 
curved,  like  a  half-moon,  to  the  Bellevue  Prison,  or  high 
ground  foot  of  Twenty- fifth  street.  Cedar  Creek  entered 
into  this  cove  a  little  east  of  the  Stuyvesant  ground.  There 
were  three  large  houses  near  where  Tenth  street  crosses 
the  old  road  (Stuyvesant  street).  Hamilton  Fish  lived  in 
one  of  them,  and,  I  believe,  was  born  there.  I  knew  Mr. 
Fish  when  he  was  a  boy.  Among  the  old,  familiar  places 
there,  was  Vauxhall  Garden,  in  the  Bowery,  below  Art 
street.  It  ran  through  to  Broadway,  with  an  entrance 
opposite  Sixth  street,  before  Lafayette  Place  was  opened 
through  the  middle  of  it. 

In  those  former  days  they  executed  all  criminals,  con- 
demned to  be  hung,  in  public.  A  man  named  Johnson  was 
hung  at  the  crossing  of  Thirteenth  street  and  now  Second 
avenue,  in  1824,  and  another  man  of  the  same  name  was 
hung  east  of  Third  avenue,  about  Twenty-first  street  and 
Second  avenue,  in  1827.  Those  were  the  last  public  exe- 
cutions in  New  York.  That  disagreeable  work  is  now  done 
in  private,  within  prison  walls,  according  to  law. 

Having  looked  over  the  city,  and  the  whole  island,  from 
the  Battery  to  the  Harlem  River,  we  can  now  speak  of  the 
customs  and  ways  of  the  good  people  of  New  York,  as  we 
remember  the  good  old  days  of  over  seventy  years  ago 
(1820).  The  people  were  social,  and  plain  in  their  way  of 
living.  There  were  not  many  very  rich  men,  nor  many 
very  poor.  The  most  people  were  in  moderate  circum- 
stances, and  lived  prudent,  happy  lives.  Mechanics'  wages 
were  from  eight  to  twelve  shillings  a  day  for  good  work- 
men, and  that  was  considered  good  pay,  and  so  it  was  in 
those  days  (1820  to  1830),  because  living  was  cheap. 
Mechanics  boarded  for  about  ten  shillings  a  week.  Mar- 
keting was  cheaper.  Good  beef  sold  for  4  and  5  cents  a 
pound;  vegetables  were  low,  and  butter  8  cents  a  pound. 


17 


Twenty-five  cents  would  buy  a  good  dinner  for  a  family  of 
five  or  six  persons. 

But  the  education  of  boys  and  girls  was  not  so  cheap  and 
easy  to  get  as  now.  There  were  no  public  schools,  and 
parents  had  to  send  their  children  to  some  private  pay- 
school.  Boys  at  the  age  of  14  or  15  were  anxious  to  learn 
a  trade  or  profession,  and  were  not  content  until  they  had 
accomplished  their  wish.  It  was  the  custom  in  those  days 
for  parents  to  bind  their  boys  at  some  trade  until  they  were 
21  years  old.  The  practice  was  a  good  one  for  some  boys, 
if  they  had  a  good  master  to  serve — one  who  would  keep 
them  to  work  at  the  trade,  and  not  send  them  to  do  all 
sorts  of  work  at  his  house,  work  only  fit  for  the  hired  ser- 
vant girl,  as  many  masters  did.  It  was  not  the  practice  of 
all  master  mechanics  to  teach  their  apprentice  boys  in  an 
improper  way,  but  there  were  many  who  did,  and  it  was  no 
wonder  that  so  many  apprentice  boys  ran  away,  for  they 
learned  nothing  about  the  trade,  but  had  to  work  hard  for 
their  board  money  and  a  little  for  clothing. 

The  New  York  boys  were  pretty  good  boys;  their  man- 
ners, their  ways  and  their  associates  were  good.    They  did 
not  drink  or  smoke;  no  boy  or  young  man  would  be  seen 
smoking  a  cigar  or  pipe  in  the  street;  it  was  not  a  custom 
to  do  so.    Nor  would  you  ever  see  small  boys  throwing- 
dice  on  the  sidewalk,  or  in  the  park  gambling  for  money 
Nothing  like  that  could  ever  be  seen  in  old  New  York.. 
There  were  no  penny  papers  published,  with  their  extra,, 
every  afternoon.    The  only  papers  published  were  the  large  • 
morning  and  evening  papers,  issued  to  subscribers  only , 
at  ten  dollars  a  year,  and  four  or  five  weekly  papers,  but  no 
Sunday  papers  (1830).    The  only  protection  the  city  had 
against  crime  was  Old  Hays  and  a  few  constables  in  the 
daytime,  and  the  regular  watchman  at  night. 

We  cannot  forget  the  old  Volunteer  Fire  Department  


18 


what  it  was  to  be  a  fireman  in  those  long-past  years,  when 
Uriah  Wenman  was  chief  engineer,  followed  by  James  Gulick, 
and  John  Riker.  after  Gulick  was  removed  against  the  wishes 
of  the  great  majority  of  the  firemen.  On  the  night  that  Gulick 
was  removed  by  the  Common  Council  there  was  a  large 
fire;  it  broke  out  about  12  o'clock,  at  the  foot  of  Spring 
street.  The  news  of  Gulick' s  removal  was  soon  known 
among  the  firemen,  and  they  determined  to  show  in  some 
way  their  disapproval  of  that  act  of  the  Common  Council. 
So,  after  the  fire  was  put  out,  about  7  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  we  started  for  home;  the  men  turned  their  caps, 
the  hind  part  in  front,  and  some  drew  their  engines  home 
tail  first.  It  made  a  great  deal  of  fun  for  the  people  who 
saw  us  going  home  to  the  engine-house.  The  removal  of 
Gulick  was  to  him  a  great  benefit,  for  he  was  nominated  by 
the  Whig  party  and  elected  Register  at  the  next  election. 
A  fireman  had  to  keep  himself  prepared  at  all  hours,  day 
and  night,  to  respond  to  an  alarm  of  fire,  and  run  to  the 
engine-house,  or  for  the  engine,  if  it  had  left  for  the  fire. 
A  fireman  would  sleep  with  his  bedroom  window  partly 
open,  and  with  his  fire-clothes  at  his  bedside,  and  would 
hear  the  first  stroke  of.  a  bell  for  an  alarm  of  fire,  and  in 
great  haste  would  get  up,  and,  while  only  half  dressed,  he 
would  hurry  to  the  street  with  his  coat  on  his  arm,  and 
finish  dressing  while  running  to  the  engine-house.  Every 
engine  had  its  volunteer  company,  besides  the  regular  fire- 
rnen.  They  were  all  under  21  years  of  age,  and  took  great 
pride  in  their  engine.  They  were  generally  more  active 
than  the  regular  members,  and  it  was  not  a  prudent  thing 
for  any  outsider  to  say  a  word  against  their  machine.  The 
question  has  often  been  asked  if  I  thought  the  old  volun- 
teer Department  was  as  efficient  as  the  paid  Department 
now  is.  There  can  be  but  one  answer  to  such  a  question; 
that  is,  No!    But  consider;  the  old  firemen  had  a  small 


19 


hand-engine,  and  they  had  to  run  a  mile  or  more,  and  drag 
their  engines  to  the  fire;  then  they  had  to  form  a  line  and 
draw  all  the  water  from  the  river,  or  some  large  public 
cistern — and  private  ones,  too,  if  they  could  find  any  near 
by.  The  men  had  to  work  their  engines,  and  work  hard, 
too,  for  if  their  engine  was  in  a  line  they  would  not  let  the 
engine  behind  wash,  or  give  them  more  water  than  they 
could  take.  All  the  engines  were  of  the  same  size,  6^  inch 
cylinder,  except  two,  Nos.  5  and  27;  they  had  6^  inch 
cylinders,  and  could  therefore  give  or  take  more  water  than 
any  of  the  other  engines;  so  they  did  not  get  as  much 
credit  if  they  washed  another  engine;  but  if  one  of  them 
got  washed  it  caused  a  great  deal  of  fun  all  along  the  line. 
And  another  thing  we  must  consider  is,  we  had  no  hose- 
carts — as  they  were  called — until  after  the  Croton  water 
was  brought  to  the  city,  in  1840.  They  were  a  great  relief 
and  benefit  to  the  whole  Department,  leading  water  enough 
and  near  to  every  fire. 

The  paid  firemen  have  none  of  the  hardships  to  contend 
with  that  the  volunteer  firemen  had.  They  sleep  at  the 
engine-house,  ready  for  an  alarm  of  fire  by  the  telegraph 
in  the  house.  They  slide  down  a  brass  rod  to  the  engine 
floor  and  get  on  the  engine  or  tender,  and,  with  well- 
trained  horses,  are  soon  at  the  fire;  and  after  attaching 
hose  to  the  hydrant,  they  have  steam  to  do  all  the  work  of 
throwing  the  water  on  the  fire  to  put  it  out.  The  men  go 
home  with  the  engine  as  they  came,  and  find  a  pleasant 
place  to  rest.  It  was  not  so  with  the  old  firemen.  They 
had  to  go  to  their  daily  employment,  to  support  themselves 
and  families.  It  is  right  and  just  that  the  old  firemen  of 
New  York  should  ever  be  remembered  with  gratitude  for 
their  self-sacrificing  devotion  to  the  cause  of  saving  prop- 
erty or  the  lives  of  their  fellow  citizens  from  the  devouring 
rage  of  fire. 


20 


But  there  was  another  custom  we  enjoyed  in  New  York. 
According  to  law,  it  was  the  duty  of  every  male  citizen  over 
21  years  of  age  to  serve  the  State  in  the  militia  at  least  three 
days  every  year,  parade  and  review,  unless  exempted  by  law. 
There  was  a  quick  way  of  finding  out  and  enrolling  all  men 
in  some  regiment  of  the  State  militia,  and  no  questions 
asked  about  it.  In  the  Fall  of  each  year  a  citizen,  when  he 
got  home  from  his  shop  or  business,  might  expect  some 
evening  to  find  a  regular  military  notice  for  him  to  meet  on 
the  corner  of  some  street  named,  near  his  home,  on  some 
morning  of  day  named,  at  8  o'clock,  armed  and  equipped 
according  to  law,  with  musket,  bayonet  and  belts,  for 
parade  and  inspection.  So,  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
named,  after  bidding  his  family  a  tearful  farewell,  he  would 
go  to  the  place  named  to  see  his  captain,  and  join  with 
others  for  a  day  of  military  duties,  according  to  law.  He 
would  meet  on  the  corner  a  large  number  of  men,  waiting 
to  see  the  captain,  and  when  he  came,  dressed  in  full 
uniform,  with  sword  at  his  side,  he  looked  nice  and  felt 
big.  Nearly  every  man  he  met  had  an  excuse  to  offer,  and 
expected  to  get  off  for  the  day.  Some  had  sickness  at 
home  in  the  family,  and  must  be  there.  The  captain  would 
hear  all  sorts  of  excuses,  and  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  must  deny  all,  or  he  would  not  have  many  left  to  take 
to  the  colonel  and  join  his  regiment  with;  so  he  would 
close  his  book  and  give  the  word  of  command,  "Fall  in! 
Attend  to  roll-call!"  With  the  aid  of  the  curbstone  he 
could  form  a  straight  line.  He  would  walk  around  his 
company,  inspecting  them,  noting  those  that  were  equipped 
according  to  law,  if  any.  Some  would  have  a  musket  and 
belts,  some  would  have  an  old  musket  and  no  belts,  some 
only  a  single  barrel  shotgun;  all  would  have  something  to 
shoot  with,  if  occasion  required  it.  The  captain  would  then 
march  his  company,  in  double  file,  to  meet  the  colonel  and 


21 


the  other  companies  of  the  regiment.  The  colonel  would 
form  the  regiment  and  march  them  to  some  parade  ground, 
for  a  day  of  parade  and  review.  From  the  first  of  October 
to  the  middle  of  November  there  would  be  one  or  more 
regiments  march  up  Broadway  or  the  Bowery  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  return  in  the  afternoon,  with  a  good  band  of 
music  at  their .  head.  In  November  the  Court  Marshals 
would  meet  to  try  those  delinquent  fellows  who  had  disre- 
garded the  law — and  there  were  plenty  of  them,  who  got 
off  with  a  fine  of  one  or  three  dollars.  There  were  two 
men,  Davey  and  Gulick,  who  had  the  collecting  of  all 
military  fines.  And  nearly  all  the  young  men  knew  old 
One- eye  Davey,  as  he  was  called,  for  either  Davey  or 
Gulick  had  been  after  them  some  time,  to  collect  a  fine. 
Old  Davey  would  chase  a  man  at  his  home,  his  business 
place,  or  in  the  street,  to  get  his  fee,  if  no  more.  The  boys 
— and  men,  too — used  to  play  all  manner  of  tricks  on  old 
Davey,  especially  when  he  visited  a  market  after  some 
butcher  boy,  to  collect  his  fine;  he  was  sure  to  be  roughly 
used,  but  he  would  get  some  one  to  talk  to  about  his  fine; 
the  butcher  would  plead  bad  market,  and  try  to  put  Davey 
off  with  a  promise,  as  he  had  done  before.  Davey  would 
reply  to  all  the  fine  talk  by  saying,  "I  want  my  money," 
and,  turning  his  back  to  the  unfortunate  butcher,  w  ith  hands 
behind  him  and  open  palms,  would  say:  "I  must  have  the 
money,  or  I'll  take  you  to  see  the  colonel;"  that  meant  to 
jail,  and  the  unfortunate  debtor  would  put  twenty-five  or 
fifty  cents  in  the  palm  of  Davey' s  hand,  and  he  would  say, 
"Good- by,  I'll  see  you  again  soon;"  but  Davey  would  not 
give  the  man  another  call  for  at  least  one  year.  The 
militia  law  was  always  a  great  annoyance,  and  the  only 
good  it  ever  did  was  to  cause  many  good  citizens  to  join  a 
regular  uniformed  company  or  the  Fire  Department,  which 
exempted  them  from  that  law,  and  jury  duty,  also. 


22 


We  will  look  at  the  east  side  again,  going  up  Chatham 
street.  It  was  a  busy  street,  with  many  stores  in  it,  but  no 
ready-made  clothing,  for  there  were  none  of  those  stores  in 
the  whole  city.  A  person  wishing  to  purchase  clothing 
had  to  go  to  a  tailor  and  be  measured  for  what  he  wanted. 
There  was  a  theatre  in  Chatham  street,  near  Pearl.  It 
stood  back  from  the  street,  and  the  entrance  was  from 
Chatham  street  through  a  long,  wide  passageway.  It  was 
turned  into  a  church,  called  Chatham  Street  Chapel,  and  the 
famous  Dr.  Finney  preached  there.  The  Chatham  Theatre 
was  near  Roosevelt  street,  and  another  small  theatre,  called 
the  Franklin,  near  James  street.  Chatham  Street  Museum 
was  opposite  the  theatre.  The  long  and -well  remembered 
play,  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  was  first  played  in  the  Chat- 
ham Theatre,  in  184U. 

East  Broadway  was  formerly  called  Harmon  street,  and 
it  was  not  a  very  attractive  street.  But  after  it  was  opened 
and  made  wider,  to  its  present  width,  and  built  up  with 
fine,  large,  three  and  four-story  dwelling  houses,  and  the 
name  changed  to  East  Broadway,  it  was  one  of  the  finest 
streets  in  the  city.  This,  with  Henry,  Madison  and  Monroe 
streets  running  parallel  with  it,  and  nothing  but  handsome 
two  or  three-story  brick  dwelling  houses  in  them,  made  the 
Seventh  Ward  one  of  the  best  and  cleanest  in  New  York. 
Nearly  all  the  Quakers  of  the  city  lived  in  this  ward,  and 
their  meeting-house  was  in  Hester  street,  corner  of  Eliza- 
beth. Dr.  Krebs'  Church  was  built  on  the  corner  of 
Rutgers  and  Henry  streets.  It  had  a  large  and  fashionable 
congregation,  but  the  up-town  moving  of  so  many  of  the 
congregation  gave  the  trustees  an  excuse  for  selling  the 
church  to  another  denomination,  suitable  for  the  new  and 
foreign  class 'of  people  that  was  so  fast  settling  in  the 
Seventh  Ward.  But  there  is  still  one  church  that  is  remem- 
bered with  a  sacred  love  by  the  old  members  of  the  church, 


23 


and  residents  of  the  ward,  for  its  past  history.  It  was  built 
in  1817,  on  the  corner  of  Henry  and  Market  streets,  formerly 
called  St.  George  street;  this  street  had  a  bad  reputation, 
but  after  it  was  reformed,  and  built  up  with  nice  two-story 
brick  houses,  and  its  name  changed  to  Market  street,  that 
whole  section  of  the  Seventh  Ward  became  one  of  the  most 
desirable  locations  of  the  city  to  live  in,  and  Market  Street 
Church  was  one  of  the  best  attended  in  the  city.  The  Rev. 
Wm.  McMurray  was  the  first  minister,  until  1836,  when 
Dr.  Isaac  Ferris  came  from  Albany  and  took  charge  of  the 
church,  which  grew  to  a  big,  powerful  organization.  But 
about  1850  the  foreign  population  was  increasing  so  fast, 
and  so  many  of  the  old  citizens  of  the  ward  were  moving 
away  to  new  homes  up-town  and  to  Brooklyn,  that  Market 
Street  Church  was  almost  deserted  by  all  the  old  citizens  of 
the  ward.  In  1853  Dr.  Ferris  was  made  Chancellor  of  the 
University  in  Washington  Square.  In  June,  1853,  Dr. 
Theodore  L.  Cuyler,  a  young  minister  3 1  years  old,  from 
Trenton,  N.  J.,  became  the  pastor,  and  by  his  energy,  and 
earnest  labor  of  love  for  the  Master,  he  soon  revived  the 
drooping  spirits  of  the  church,  and  filled  the  hearts  of 
thousands  with  love  and  devotion  to  him  as  a  preacher, 
pastor  and  friend. 

For  seven  years  Dr.  Cuyler  labored  in  Market  Street 
Church  with  great  success.  Thousands  of  young  men  from 
all  parts  of  the  city  and  country  filled  the  church  to  over- 
flow every  Sunday  evening  to  hear  him.  It  was  there,  and 
in  that  church,  that  Dr.  Cuyler  commenced  his  brilliant 
and  unsurpassed  career  as  a  pastor,  and  is  now  known  and 
loved  in  every  part  of  this,  his  native  land — and  England, 
too.  In  1860  Dr.  Cuyler  was  called  to  a  small  church  in 
Brooklyn,  corner  of  DeKalb  avenue  and  Oxford  street; 
but  it  was  soon  found  that  the  building  was  too  small, 
and  they  built  the  large  church  corner  of  Lafayette  avenue 


24 


and  Oxford  street,  and  for  thirty  years  Dr.  Cuyler 
was  the  pastor;  but  he  resigned  in  1890,  that  he  might 
have  needed  rest  from  the  care  of  so  large  a  church,  and 
Dr.  Gregg  is  now  his  good  and  worthy  successor. 

The  old  Market  Street  Church,  after  Dr.  Cuyler  left, 
had  the  Rev.  Mr.  Murray  as  pastor  for  two  years,  and  Dr. 
Dutcher  succeeded  Mr.  Murray.  But  the  church  attend- 
ance continued  to  fall  off,  and  in  1866  it  was  sold  to  the 
Sea  and  Land  Association,  to  be  kept  for  the  benefit  of 
the  working  people  of  that  part  of  the  city.  It  was  given 
out  that  Market  Street  Church  was  to  be  sold  at  auction  to 
the  highest  bidder.  The  rumor  was  received  with  sorrow 
and  regret  by  all  who  had  ever  enjoyed  the  privilege  of 
association  in  that  church  with  Dr.  Cuyler  and  other  good 
pastor? .  Being  desirous  to  see  and  attend  again  the  old 
church  before  it  was  sold,  we  attended  it  one  evening  a  few 
months  ago,  and  the  sensation  and  delight  to  me  was  like 
as  if,  after  an  absence  of  many  years  from  a  dear  old  home, 
to  again  visit  the  place  of  former  days  and  years  of  comfort 
and  pleasure;  to  see  all  things  about  the  home  just  as  it 
was  in  years  past,  gives  one  a  feeling  of  joy  and  pleasure 
that  words  cannot  express.  And  as  we  sat  in  the  old  pew 
as  in  former  years,  we  saw  everything  just  as  it  was  forty 
years  ago,  when  our  loved  pastor,  Dr.  Cuyler,  was  there, 
holding  up  so  faithfully  the  light  of  the  world  to  so  many 
people  of  the  Seventh  Ward  of  the  city.  We  thought  of 
those  happy  days  when  we  were  led  to  see,  believe  and 
trust  that  light  to  guide  us  over  the  rough  and  troublesome 
pathway  of  this,  our  earthly  pilgrimage,  to  our  Father's 
house  above.  The  thought  of  offering  to  sell  the  old 
Market  Street  Church,  to  be  removed  and  its  place  to  be 
occupied  by  tenement  houses,  and  perhaps  low  saloons  and 
places  of  sinful  traffic,  was  not  pleasant,  but  a  cause  of  sorrow 
and  regret.    Think  what  was  the  condition  of  that  part  of 


25 


the  city  when  the  street  was  called  St.  George  street.  It 
was  nothing  but  a  place  of  sin  and  misery.  But  when  the 
old  church  was  built  there  (1817)  and  the  name  changed 
to  Market  street,  the  whole  street,  and  that  section  of  the 
city,  was  changed,  and  became  one  of  the  best  and  most 
respectable  parts  of  the  city.  And  Market  Street  Church 
was  the  main  cause  of  the  great  change  and  reform.  Now, 
after  such  a  career  of  usefulness  and  influence  for  good,  it 
ought  not  to  be  removed.  There  is  now  a  small  congrega- 
tion of  regular  attendants,  and  a  Sabbath  School.  The 
church  ought  not  to  be  removed,  for  the  sake  of  the  chil- 
dren and  the  honest  working  people  of  the  Seventh  Ward. 
Again  I  say,  the  church  should  not  be  sold;  let  it  stand 
there,  and  the  old  bell  continue  to  ring  as  usual,  calling 
all  within  its  sound  to  come  to  the  Light,  that  they  may  see, 
believe,  and  be  saved. 

The  increase  of  New  York  in  population  and  business 
during  the  last  fifty  years  has  been  wonderfully  large. 
Nothing  will  more  clearly  show  this  than  a  look  at  the  work 
of  the  Post- Office — the  way  it  was  done  fifty  years  ago,  and 
now.  Employees  in  the  Post  Office  have  a  common  griev- 
ance, viz. :  hard  work.  Not  for  the  most  part  laborious, 
but  a  constant  exercise  of  hand  and  brain.  From  experi- 
ence I  can  testify  how  it  was  in  1846,  and  a  long  time  after; 
and  a  few  incidents  may  be  of  interest  to  the  reader.  At 
5:30  in  the  morning  employees  were  required  to  be  at  work, 
until  the  morning  mails  were  all  dispatched,  when  the  whole 
force  went  to  breakfast.  By  0:30  work  recommenced,  and 
continued  until  the  afternoon.  Mails  were  all  sent  off,  and 
all  the  mail  matter  in  the  office  worked  up.  Newspapers 
were  distributed  on  three  tables — North,  East,  South  and 
West — by  six  men,  two  at  each  table.  This  force  began 
early,  by  4:15,  so  as  to  have  all  that  had  accumulated 
through  the  night  distributed,  and  in  order  to  be  ready  to 


26 


distribute  the  daily  papers,  that  began  to  come  in  at  5 
o'clock.  These  had  preference  over  all  other  printed 
matter.  The  letters  were  made  up  in  bundles,  with  a  bill 
for  every  Post- Office  in  one  of  the  bundles;  they  were 
wrapped  in  paper  and  tied  up.  This  all  took  time  and 
trouble;  that  is  now  dispensed  with.  The  letters  were 
taken  to  the  newspaper  tables  and  there  distributed  in 
leather  bags,  locked  up,  and  sent  off.  Letters  and  news- 
papers with  optional  payment  for  stamp  were  not  used, 
and  the  postage  on  unpaid  matter  was  paid  on  delivery. 
There  were  less  than  seventy  names  on  the  pay-roll  of  the 
New  York  Post-Office,  and  thirty  carriers  for  the  whole  city 
to  Twenty-first  street.  All  above  that  was  considered  to 
be  in  Yorkville,  and  a  daily  mail  was  sent  there  via  the 
Harlem  Railroad.  There  was  great  sociability  among  the 
clerks,  and  a  friendly  feeling  was  manifested  to  all.  No 
improper  language  was  used  nor  loud  talking  permitted, 
and  every  one  worked  long  and  hard,  cheerfully  and  con- 
tentedly. Pay  was  better  then  than  now,  because  money 
would  go  further.  Eight  hundred  dollars  then  was  better 
than  one  thousand  now.  Rents  were  lower,  provisions 
cheaper;  every  one  lived  within  walking  distance  of  the 
Post-Office,  and  consequently  had  no  car-fare  to  pay.  By 
ordinary  economy,  the  Post-Office  clerk  of  1846  could  save 
a  little  of  his  month's  pay,  and  enjoy  many  of  the  refine- 
ments as  well  as  the  comforts  of  a  home. 

The  first  United  States  postage  stamps  were  issued  in 
1847.  It  was  a  brown,  five-cent  stamp,  and  was  about  the 
size  of  the  stamp  previous  to  those  now  in  use,  and  bore  the 
likeness  of  Benjamin  Franklin.  Although  the  work  of  the 
Post-Office  has  largely  increased,  requiring  twenty  branch 
offices  and  near  three  thousand  men  to  do  the  work,  yet, 
by  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Dayton,  our  good  and  able  Post- 
master, the  labor  of  the   employees  has   been  greatly 


27 


reduced  by  his  successful  appeal  for  more  men,  and  dividing 
the  force  into  three  tours  of  eight  hours'  work  each  day 
and  night  continually.  There  are  now  two  hundred  and 
fifty-three  men  employed  in  the  newspaper  department,  and 
the  increase  of  work  in  all  the  other  departments  has  been 
equally  large. 

Having  reviewed  this  city  and  county  as  we  knew  it 
from  forty  to  seventy  years  ago,  we  think  of  those  days 
with  pleasure  when  the  streets  were  all  lighted  with  oil- 
lamps;  when  our  churches  and  our  homes  were  lighted  with 
candles  and  oil-lamps,  before  and  long  after  gas  was  intro- 
duced into  the  city;  and  nothing  was  used  but  wood  for 
fuel  to  warm  our  houses  and  cook  with,  until  hard  coal  was 
discovered  and  used  as  fuel,  about  1833  or  1834.  We  have 
seen  New  York  when  it  was  a  small  city,  but  full  of  life  and 
energy;  we  have  seen  it  grow  to  its  present  size,  the  largest 
and  most  influential  city  of  our  land,  unsurpassed  by  any  in 
wealth,  in  learning,  and  distinguished  for  its  many  institu- 
tions of  benevolence  and  charity — its  homes  for  the  aged, 
the  asylums  for  the  orphan  child,  its  many  churches,  and 
the  home  of  so  many  devout  and  earnest  Christian  workers, 
both  men  and  women,  who  have  grown  like  the  palm  tree 
and  abide  among  us,  to  show  to  all  the  way  to  happiness 
and  to  God.  So  then,  kind  reader,  as  you  walk  along  this 
rough  and  often  deceitful,  sandy  road  of  life,  remember  you 
are  growing,  and  the  way  is  for  you  to  determine.  Let  me, 
then,  urge  you  to  grow  like  the  palm-tree,  a  native  of  the 
East;  and  the  country  where  our  Saviour  visited  is  eminent 
for  its  palm-trees.  It  also  grows  in  the  sandy  soil  of  the 
desert,  and  serves  as  a  telegraph  to  the  weary  traveler,  to 
direct  him  to  the  nearest  fountains,  for  deep  down  in  the 
soil  it  sends  its  roots  until  they  find  the  hidden  spring  of 
water,  and  there,  amid  the  hot  desert  sands,  it  flourishes 
and  grows  strong,  tall  and  erect.    So  the  Christian,  draw- 


28 


ing  all  his  strength  and  nourishment  from  the  unseen 
fountain  of  the  abounding  grace  of  God,  stands  as  a  signal 
on  earth,  to  point  the  way  to  holiness.  But  the  Christian, 
like  the  palm-tree,  receiving  all  his  nourishment  from  the 
unseen  source  of  Divine  grace,  is  ever  spreading  his  fruits 
on  every  side,  making  sweet  the  atmosphere  of  the  Chris- 
tian home  with  thanksgiving  and  praise  to  God.  The 
palm-tree  is  also  famous  for  its  yield  of  delicious  dates  in 
large  abundance.  So  the  Christian,  by  a  life  of  devoted 
attachment  to  his  Master,  should  so  direct  his  ways  that  all 
may  see  that  he  is  sustained  by  the  Divine  grace,  while, 
resigned  and  cheerful,  he  waits  his  time,  ever  shedding 
forth  the  fruits  of  righteousness,  making  glad  the  hearts  of 
those  who  are  within  the  pure  atmosphere  of  his  daily  life, 
until,  ripe  with  years,  his  fruits  are  ready  for  his  Saviour's 
banquet-hall. 

Let  it  be  ours,  then,  as  we  contemplate  the  beauty  of  the 
palm-tree,  to  behold  the  fit  emblem  of  a  growing  faith  in 
Christ,  so  to  regulate  our  daily  life,  assisted  by  His  grace, 
that  we  may  grow,  like  the  palm  tree,  among  the  sterile 
sands  and  along  the  thorny  road  of  life,  standing  as  beacon- 
lights  to  all  around  us  ! 


